Logain's Lost Days
by ZachValkyrie
Summary: This is a series of vignettes centering on Logain, because he's a seriously underappreciated character. The first chapter was originally published on Deviantart, but I have decided to continue it here.
1. Foreword

First things first: **MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!** If you have not at least started A Memory of Light, you might want to put off reading this until you have, or at least leave some of the later chapters until you have reached that point. You have been warned...

I make no secret of my unconditional love for Logain Ablar. He has a commanding presence, he contrasts very nicely with Mazrim Taim, he has Min's prophecy of glory and power foreshadowing his eventual greatness, and he's the strongest male channeler in the entire series who isn't either irredeemably evil or a physical god. And if that weren't enough, he gets put through so much suffering throughout the series. Between being gentled, getting next to no respect from the rebel aes sedai or from Rand, and almost being turned to the shadow, a lesser character might have cracked under the strain (and Logain almost did!)

But despite being such an awesome character, Logain is hardly ever seen "on-screen," as it were. In the first book, this is acceptable, because he isn't really relevant to the plot at hand, but in the later books this gets a bit worrisome. We never see his arrival at the Black Tower, or any of his relationship with Taim; we don't see his reaction to the cleansing of _Saidin_, or his very first meeting with Rand (which in my opinion could have saved Crossroads of Twilight for me.) Light, he doesn't even get a POV chapter until more than halfway through the last book!

I understand that The Wheel of Time is a very large piece of work, and it is rather petty to whine about one character among many; but I simply cannot let a character with such potential go to waste! Therefore I am taking it upon myself to fill in some of the blank spaces in between Logain's "on-screen" appearances.

So gather round the fire lads and lassies and enjoy the thrills, the chills, and the occasional accidental retcon as we recount the many magnificent misadventures that transpired during Logain's lost days...


	2. Chapter 1: Logain's Ascent

_Some might call this fanfiction. I'd like to think of it as a possibility. Perhaps, in a bygone age, or in a mirror world, something like this might have happened..._

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind began to rise on the peak of Dragonmount. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was _a_ beginning.

Down the slopes the wind rushed, cooled by the night and pulled down by its own weight. It blew over soaring cliffs, down slopes with a sparse covering of grass, and finally reached the bottom of the mountain where it blew through the long dark hair of the young man climbing up the slope. He was Logain, scion of the noble house of Ablar of the land of Ghealdan. He was tall, broad-shouldered, just shy of his middle years, and he was determined to scale the summit of Dragonmount.

He didn't know precisely what had driven him to travel about the land as he did. Perhaps all those hours in his youth of sitting in the family library reading _The Travels of Jain Farstrider_ long into the night had kindled a sense of wanderlust inside him. Perhaps he wanted to see the world and become a better ruler by the experience; after all, the common folk of Ghealdan might distrust strangers, but a lord could afford no such luxury. That was what he had told his lord father and lady mother as he set out those many months ago, and even he hadn't been convinced by the lie. But perhaps there was a grain of truth to it after all. He had been told in Cairhien that the best liars knew how to use the truth, and perhaps he had. Then again maybe that was just more Daes Dae'mar nonsense.

Maybe his wandering was an expression of the madness that came with channeling. Logain had managed to keep his talent... his curse secret for the better part of five years, and he seemed sane enough to himself at least, but it was only a matter of time. One day the taint would overcome him, and he would go mad, destroying everything and every_one_ he held dear. At least, that was what would happen if the Red Ajah didn't catch him and gentle him first.

And then what? What did red sisters do with men once they had been gentled? Did they turn them loose to face the wrath of the people they might have killed? Did they hang them quietly in some secret white tower dungeon? Did they keep them alive in the tower to make sure they didn't get up to any mischief? Nobody was completely sure. Even Guaire Amalasan the most famous False Dragon of the Third Age had all but vanished from the histories after he had been gentled, his final fate left uncertain; though it was generally suspected that he had been executed by the tower. Logain glanced back over his shoulder. Tar Valon shimmered in the distance, barely half a days ride away; if he was really so curious what the Red Ajah did to men who could channel why not just ride up to the gates of the White Tower and find out himself!

Logain suspected the reason he had managed to hold off the madness thus far was because he had found other things with which to occupy his time. _Hobbies_ he thought derisively, as if any of those austere activities could compare with the sheer ecstasy of _Saidin_. Logain supposed that to the average person he must seem like a whirlwind of activity, and all of it carefully calculated to keep him from indulging his craving for the One Power. He hunted. He rode horseback. He read every single book he could get his hands on. He taught himself to read the Old Tongue. He scouted with rangers in the Forest of Shadows. He prospected for alum in the Mountains of Mist. He served two tours with The Legion of the Wall. He tried to learn the sword, though his instructor said he was never likely to make a proper blademaster. And of course, he traveled. But here, less than half a days ride from the White Tower, he needed no other incentive to keep from touching the Source.

Logain stumbled! _Fool!_ He should have kept his mind on the task at hand! Even at this altitude not even a third of the way up the mountain, one false step could send a man tumbling down the slope to break his neck! He looked down to see what he had tripped over... a corpse. He wasn't surprised. He had heard tell of the many corpses that were said to litter the slopes of Dragonmount; the remains of fools who had thought to win glory eternal by being the first to scale the mountain. Logain looked again, something was strange about this body. It wore a gray-brown coat with loose breeches of the same color. It's head was wrapped in cloth with its face hidden behind a black veil. An aielman.

He pulled back the veil from the corpses face; it was badly decomposed. It must have lain here since the Aiel War, nearly twenty years ago. Logain would have been only a boy of six years when this one died. All that remained now were the bones and a few wisps of blond hair. Blond? That was rare for an aielman; he had never been to the Aiel Waste, but Logain was almost certain that all aielmen were red haired. Still, it was hardly inconceivable to find a blond aielman. He shrugged and continued up the slope.

More bodies followed the first, in varying stages of decomposition. It was a grim sight to be sure, but Logain couldn't help but laugh on the inside. Had none of these fools known how difficult climbing could be when one failed to bring supplies and equipment? Logain had commissioned a brand new set of crampons and climbing spikes before setting out on his journey. In Cairhien, he had spent a small fortune on jerked meat and pilot bread, and he had filled several canteens in a clear stream before starting up the mountain itself; hardly a tasty meal, but it would keep him alive longer than whatever meager provisions those long dead climbers had thought to bring. He probably should have resupplied in Tar Valon, but he had ultimately decided against that. Climbing Dragonmount was danger enough for one trip.

The slope increased even further. The grass, already sparse at this altitude, vanished completely. By now the incline was so steep that Logain practically had to walk on all fours to keep from falling over backwards. It was just short of midday when he reached a sheer wall of rock. He stopped for a moment; it was as good a time as any to catch his breath. Besides, he would need all his strength for this next leg of the climb. He reached into his pack and pulled out a pair of crampons which he fastened to his boots. He also pulled out a pair of climbing spikes, freshly forged in Jehannah. Finally, he wolfed down a hard biscuit and washed it down with a swig of water. Logain was as ready now as he would ever be.

Logain drove the spikes into the wall and began to climb. _Pace yourself_, he thought, _one limb at a time. Just like Garen's Wall back home_. Slowly, inexorably, he crawled up the stone face. His climbing spikes found crevasses, his boots found outcroppings, and Logain pulled himself up another foot, another inch. Gusts of wind battered the cliff face, but still he climbed. The sun reached its zenith but somehow it was less warm than earlier. His muscles ached from the exertion, and he was breathing heavily, but he kept going. Finally, Logain reached a lip of rock jutting out from the cliff face. _Respite!_ he scrambled over the lip and onto a level slab of rock.

Logain shivered. The air bit shrewdly and it was bitter cold this high above the ground. He had prepared for this of course, and he pulled a large fur-lined coat out of his pack. He wrapped it around himself and sat beside his pack to catch his breath, munching on another piece of pilot bread as he sat. Sitting beside him, a skeleton reclined against the side of the mountain. He looked closer, this skeleton wore a heavy jacket, trimmed with fur. Its gloved hand still clutched a rusted climbing spike. Logain frowned; that man was no amateur. He had come prepared, and he had died the same as the rest of them. _So_ he thought, _Dragonmount hasn't just claimed the lives of rank amateurs; it has bested experienced mountaineers as well_. That was unsettling to say the least.

Logain picked himself up and took stock of his position. He was well over halfway up the mountain now, but from here the way would be all but vertical. He took a deep breath and once again attacked the mountain with his climbing spikes and crampons. Upward he crawled, towards the cloud-hidden peak of Dragonmount. The wind was even stronger up here, and the air was beginning to thin. How was that even possible? How could less air make for a stronger wind? Still Logain pushed on, willing himself ever upward. The impossible wind tore at his coat, trying every second to snatch it away from him, but he would not be dissuaded. He was going to make it to the top of Dragonmount. He _would_ make it!

Finally, it was all too much. The thin air, the exhaustion and the bitter cold finally caught up with Logain. Try as he might, he couldn't force himself up another inch. _Burn it all_, he thought as he panted, _is this how it ends for me?_ Logain wondered how many other climbers before him had suffered the same fate? How many had simply run out of energy and dropped off the mountain like overripe fruit to splatter on the rocky ground below? Logain looked up; there was another lip of stone directly above him. It was so close; just a span and a foot away, not even his own height. Yet as close as it was, it might as well have been a mile. There was no way he could force himself to reach it in his condition. He could feel the climbing spikes slipping from beneath his gloved hands. He snarled. No! This was not the end! Not here! Not today! There had to be some way out of this...

Logain could sense the True Source. It pulsed just beyond the edge of his perceptions. Beckoning him. Enticing him. He paused for a moment; if he channeled here, fully in view of the White Tower, it would almost certainly alert the Red Ajah. Was he really prepared to take that risk? ...What was he thinking!? This was no time for self doubt! Logain reached out for the Source. His stomach lurched from the pollution of the taint. But still he pressed on...

Finally, he grasped it! _Saidin!_ Life! Ecstasy! And power! Such _POWER!_ He drank deep, seizing as much of the Power as he could possibly hold! _Yes! More! Give me more!_ Logain felt the Power surge through him, the accompanying rush of adrenaline burning away all his exhaustion! He was powerful! More powerful than any man living! Logain began to laugh as he forced himself upward...

Logain pulled himself over the lip of the outcropping, and collapsed. Heaving. Utterly drained. _But still alive!_ The burst of adrenaline from seizing the source had given him just enough energy to climb to safety. He was more exhausted than he had ever felt in his life. Light, He could run a thousand leagues and still have more energy left than he had now! But he still held _Saidin!_ Even now in his exhaustion, he was still powerful. He laughed again. Logain, undefeated!

Bit by bit, Logain's strength returned to him. As soon as he could lift his hand, he reached into his pack and pulled out a fistful of jerked meat and stuffed it ravenously into his mouth. He washed it down with an entire canteen of water, barely bothering to chew it at all. _If mother could see me now_, he thought, imagining the fit his lady mother would throw if she caught him eating like this! Like some black-veiled aiel savage! He didn't care. He was alive! Logain shoveled more jerked meat into his mouth. The meat was bland, even to his _Saidin_-sharpened taste, but burn him, he had never tasted anything so delicious!

Logain glanced upward. Dragonmount still loomed above him. Beckoning him further. Even now in his ruined state, the mountain still tempted him onward. He shook his head and smiled. He would go no higher. He could not conquer Dragonmount, but neither would he let Dragonmount conquer him. He had come this far. Further perhaps than any man had come before. That was victory enough for Logain Ablar.

Logain turned away from Dragonmount to gaze out across the land that stretched below. He had never seen such an incredible sight! League upon league of lush green country stretched as far as he could see. Tar Valon had vanished behind the bulk of the mountain, but Cairhien was visible. Light, Cairhien! He had left from there four days ago, and there it was, sitting proudly on the banks of the Alguenya. Kinslayer's Dagger and the Spine of the World towered behind Cairhien, standing sentry at the edge of the desolate Aiel Waste. To the west, the great Braem Wood was a dark green mass, and beyond it to the south, Caemlyn shimmered in the sunlight.

Even further to the south, lay the Hills of Kintara, and beyond them, Far Madding where great ter'angreal shielded men and women alike from touching the True Source. _A man could hide there_, Logain considered, _Live the life of a respected city gentleman, find a wife, raise a family, never touch the Source again, and the Red Ajah would never know_. He shook his head. Running and hiding was the cowards way.

To the west, the great flat plains of the Caralain Grass stretched for hundreds of leagues beyond the Black Hills, and just at the edge of his sight, he could see with his _Saidin_-bolstered sight the faint outline of the Mountains of Mist. Logain had never imagined such a sight! It was like looking at a map. A living map, as large as the earth itself!

But if this was a map, then where were the countries? On every map Logain had ever seen, the land had been clearly divided into countries. So where were they? He looked again and found the River Erenin which marked the ancient border of Andor and Cairhien. Or was it the Alguenya? Or the Luan? Or some other nameless tributary? Was it even a river that demarcated their borders? Perhaps the two countries had drawn some arbitrary line in the air between their lands...

And then it hit him. "There _are_ no countries!" he said to the empty air.

How had the revelation escaped him for so long? Nations and countries, what were they but lines on a map? What made one bank of a river any different from the opposite bank? How could an invisible line in the air possibly effect the simple village folk that it divided? Countries only exist because men deceive themselves into believing that they do!

And men would kill for them! How senseless to die for a drawing in the air! How many peasants had been devoured by Andor and Cairhien's perennial attempts to gobble each other up? How many poor Ghealdanin lads had been killed over the years in petty border skirmishes between Amadicia and Altara? Further to the south, Illian and Tear had been laboring under a centuries-old vendetta and what had they accomplished but to sow the Plains of Maredo with corpses and water them with blood?

Something had to be done to stop this madness. But what? Could one country unite all the others beneath one banner? That was unlikely. All of the countries had been trying to do that for centuries, and to little avail. _If the many nations will not unite on their own_, Logain thought, _then they must be made to unite_. But what man could possibly bend all the nations of the world to his will?

Logain knew the answer as well as anyone. _The Dragon Reborn_. Prophecy said the Dragon would return one day. He would break the world it was said; he would break all bonds and oaths and bring suffering to the many peoples of the earth before leading humanity to The Last Battle. An ominous prophecy to be sure, yet if all peoples were to be united, the existing nations would have to be broken so that they might be remade. The prophecies themselves said: _"he will face the Shadow and bring forth Light again in the world"_. It was the only way to achieve lasting peace. Yes, if Logain would serve humanity, he must serve the Dragon Reborn.

Or perhaps...

_"On the slopes of Dragonmount shall he be born,"_ so the prophecies said. Logain had been born in the Mountains of Mist, like his father, and his father before him, but he had always found the Old Tongue to be remarkably malleable. "Birth" could easily be taken to mean "rebirth," and was this newfound purpose of his not a rebirth on the slopes of Dragonmount?

_"Born of a maiden wedded to no man."_ That passage would seem to disqualify him, but that could be worked around. The Old Tongue had many intricacies which could be exploited. Certain dialects treated gender strangely, and some disregarded it entirely. And if "birth" was taken as "rebirth," then could not this passage be construed as _"The idea would come to a young unmarried man?"_ It was a stretch, Logain admitted, but it could work.

_"He will be of the ancient blood, and raised by the old blood."_ That was much easier to interpret; it clearly stated that the Dragon would be born and raised by a family ancient in nobility. In this, Logain fit perfectly. The noble house of Ablar, like much of the nobility of Ghealdan, traced its lineage back to Garen, the ancestral hero of Dhowlan, the nation that would eventually become Ghealdan. Some families even traced their lineage back to ancient Manetheren, though the connection was tenuous at best. Whatever the extent, Logains veins certainly did not lack for ancient blood.

The rest of the prophecies concerned themselves with the deeds that the Dragon Reborn would accomplish before the Last Battle. Those would take care of themselves given time, Logain thought. The only other passage that stood out was the one concerning the Stone of Tear. The Stone would never fall, so the prophecies said, _"until the people of the dragon come."_ That gave him a goal to aim for. If Logain could raise an army and take the Stone of Tear, the nations of the world would have no choice but to recognize him as Lews Therin Telamon come again. And he could set about uniting the nations of the world, and he would lead them triumphantly on the march for Tarmon Gai'don.

Of course, it wasn't going to be easy. Logain suspected that many people would not believe his claim, and still more would believe him and oppose him nonetheless. Maybe King Johanin and the Crown High Council would try to seize his estate and revoke his title. And there was little doubt the Red Ajah would come after him in force once he made his proclamation, and word got out that he could channel. No matter. Logain would simply have to bind them to him like the rest of the world.

Logain stood, looking out over the land he would one day unite. He drank deep of the Source, seizing more and more of the Power. He laughed as _Saidin_ filled him to the brim. The fetid contamination of the taint splattered across his soul, but he didn't care. He was powerful. The most powerful man in the world! _Light! Such POWER!_

"I am Logain Ablar!" He shouted to the winds, and an echo carried his words back to him. "...And I am the Dragon Reborn!"


	3. Chapter 2: Logain's Captivity

Logain leaned against the heavy iron bars of his cage that held him like some rare beast in a menagerie. The eight red sisters watched him intently, as though at any moment, he might wrench open the bars and escape. Logain rolled his eyes at the thought. He was strong, but not nearly strong enough for that sort of feat.

Logain's army had swept out of Ghealdan, through Altara, and made it all the way to Murandy. His men had roundly trounced the hastily assembled Murandian force, and they were preparing to lay siege to Lugard itself. His troops had been in rare spirits and Logain had seen fit to let them revel in their good fortune before settling into the boredom and drudgery of a siege. The Red Ajah took him later that night.

It had all happened so quickly. Logain had awoken with a tingling sensation on his skin to find himself surrounded by eight women in red. He leaped out of bed and reached for _Saidin_, only to find that there was something blocking him from the Source! When he tried to lunge at the women, he was suddenly suspended in midair by... something. It was as if the air itself had become solid and lifted him off the ground! Logain seethed with anger as he remembered. Taking an enemy commander in the middle of the night was cowardly, but he could not deny that it was tactically sound.

Logain had tried desperately to raise the alarm in camp as the red sisters dragged him away, but even then, he knew it was futile. His troops were reeling from drink, and the red sisters were guarded by a perimeter of warders. He couldn't exactly fault his men for failing to come to his rescue. Only a fool would challenge a warder if he'd heard half of the tales Logain had heard, and he had told his men most of them.

As the cart rumbled on down the road, Logain wondered what would become of his leaderless army. They certainly wouldn't continue their trek towards the Stone of Tear. None of his lieutenants had much experience with warfare, save for one square-looking Taraboner fellow who claimed to have fought in Knock's Rebellion eight years earlier, and even he wouldn't know the first thing about laying a siege. Maybe his troops would mount a rescue? Logain shook his head. It was possible, but far from likely. Perhaps they would simply disperse and return to their homes, never to speak again of what they had done. That would probably be the best outcome, but Logain surmised that his army would most likely descend into banditry and chaos.

Logain smoldered with fury. True, he had left destruction in his wake, but he had done so with purpose! He would break the world and rebuild it stronger, like a miner extracts ore from the ground to smelt it into steel! But now that the Red Ajah had taken him, he would never get the opportunity rebuild where he had destroyed. Thanks to the White Tower, the world would simply remain broken. He would probably go down in history as just another false dragon, delusional and mad with power. _Fools! What did they know of power!?_

But the worst insult by far, beyond the ruination of his grand vision, beyond his humiliation at the hands of the red sisters, beyond the abandonment of his troops, was being blocked from the Source! Logain cared nothing for his heavy iron cage. It might as well not have been there, and truth be told, he was even a bit flattered that they thought him so dangerous. But to deny him the ecstasy of _Saidin_! For that, there could be no forgiveness!

Leading his army had kept Logain's mind comfortably occupied, and his thoughts away from the One Power. Excepting of course when he unleashed his might in battle, and those had all been carefully metered and restrained uses of the Power. It wouldn't do to have the earth swallow up his own army as well as that of his enemies! But here in this light-blasted cage, there was nothing to occupy his mind, and so the cravings had returned with a vengeance. Logain had never desired to grasp the power so much as he desired it now, and it was denied him! Light! Even to feel the rotten miasma that coated the surface of _Saidin_ would be a blessing!

Logain had been held captive for nearly a month now, and at first, he had thrown himself against the shield almost every waking moment, stopping only to eat, drink, sleep, or relieve himself into a bucket. After a few days or so, he stopped his rabid hammering against the shield, and began to wait for moments when he thought the shield would be weaker, such as when the sisters holding his shield changed their shifts. Still, his assaults were futile, and he eventually gave in. The sisters had clearly dealt with unruly captives before, and Logain was no different so it seemed.

As the procession traveled, the Aes Sedai made a point of displaying Logain in his iron cage in nearly every single town, village and hamlet they encountered on the road. Each town was different. In smaller villages, few people came to see him, and those who did often seemed more frightened of the Aes Sedai and the warders then of Logain himself. In the larger towns, people crowded around his cage, pushing in as close as they dared to the perimeter of warders that constantly surrounded him.

The larger crowds were never calm of course. Few Andorans had been directly affected by his march to war, but all had heard tell of Logain who called down lightning to strike where he pointed, and bade the earth open beneath his enemies feet. The crowds were often unruly, and occasionally a rotten missile would find its way through the bars barely missing Logain; but somehow, whenever he cast his gaze upon the crowds, they fell silent. He _was_ shielded, wasn't he?

No matter how poorly the crowds behaved, Logain was ever mindful of how he carried himself. "Adversity is no excuse for poor posture," so he had been told when he was young. They had robbed him of his estate, they had robbed him of his army, and soon the Aes Sedai would rob him of the Power, but they could never take away who he was! That ounce of defiance, small though it might be, was enough to keep Logain's back straight and his head high, even in the teeth of the crudest mob of ruffians.

One day in a small village, a peculiar thing happened. Logain had been on display for about half an hour, and as to be expected in a small town such as it was, few people had come to see him. In fact, the only one who seemed to take notice of him was a small boy. By his estimation, the boy must have been seven or eight years old. He wandered into the square from one of the back alleys, and stared at Logain, but not with fear. He was just curious. Who was that man in the cage? And why were there so many people guarding him?

Eventually the boy wandered over to a baker's establishment, and some minutes later, he emerged with several loaves of bread in a basket. Logain watched with wonder as the boy marched straight up to his cage, completely disregarding the glares of the Aes Sedai. Even the warders seemed perplexed by the lad's courage! How could a young boy approach the most dangerous man the land had seen in ages, and not show an ounce of fear? The boy paused for only a moment before breaking off a large chunk of one of the loaves, and setting it just inside Logain's cage. The boy stepped back, and as if he had just noticed the scowling Aes Sedai and warders, he started to back away.

Logain stared in wonder at the chunk of bread. It was only the size of his fist, but even so, it was nearly twice what the sisters gave him for a day. It was the first genuine act of kindness he had known since his capture. He picked up the crust of bread. "Wait," he called back to the young boy. The boy turned back, and Logain broke the crust in two, offering one half back to the boy through the bars of his cage, "Sit with me a while lad," he smiled, "It always tastes better when there's someone to share it with." The child beamed and walked right back towards the cage. Logain tossed the piece of bread to the boy and he caught it. The boy sat down on the ground before the cage, and Logain did the same. For a few moments, there was no cage, no shield, no Aes Sedai, no warders. Just two oddly met friends sharing a crust of bread in peace.

That had been at least a week ago. Now the cage thundered towards Caemlyn. There, Logain would be presented before Morgase, by the Grace of the Light, Queen of Andor, Defender of the Realm, and whatever other grand titles Andor had seen fit to heap upon its rulers. He held onto the bars at the top of the cage, to steady himself against the occasional bump of a pothole or stone in the road below. He squinted in the early afternoon light... He could just make out the towering pinnacles of the Royal Palace of Andor on the horizon. Logain frowned. _With Saidin in me_, he told himself, _I could probably see the whole city from here._ He glanced down at the Red sisters sitting on the edge of his cage. Each one returned his scowl.

To Logain's surprise, the cage slowed to a halt in the middle of the road. That was odd... Why were they stopping here? "Are we there yet?" He asked one of the red sisters, only half-sarcastically. She didn't answer. He turned to look back down the road the way they had come. There was a large procession coming up behind them. He shook his head. They were planning to make a spectacle out of him. Some tawdry show of force to drive home the fact that Logain the false dragon had been defeated.

First, a company of trumpeters passed on horseback. Then a column of drummers on foot. Then a rank of mounted men, each carrying the Lion Banner of Andor. And then a vast regiment of pikemen and archers, their armor clearly marking them out as Caemlyn Guards. There were more banners that followed after the Caemlyn Guards, the nine bees of Illian, the rising sun of Cairhien, the three crescent moons of Tear, and a host of other banners Logain didn't care enough about to identify. Before those banners could overtake him, the cage started moving again. Logain looked back at the trailing procession of banners. Shouldn't they be in front of him? Why were they following after?

_Of course,_ Logain thought as the realization dawned on him, _It's all for spectacle._ Those banners would represent the nations that opposed him in the field, now victorious over a conquered Logain. They hadn't opposed him, of course, and Logain couldn't help but notice a conspicuous lack of Murandian, Altaran and Ghealdanin banners. The pageantry and spectacle of the procession all spoke the lie that Logain had been challenged and defeated in pitched battle, and not snatched out of his bed like a thief in the night. Burn them, it was all so bloody ridiculous!

As soon as the first rank of trumpeters was in earshot of Caemlyn, they loosed a hideous salvo of noise. Logain winced at the assault on his ears. Was that meant to be a fanfare of victory? Light! It sounded more like The Dark One torturing a bag of cats! Had the trumpeters even bothered to tune their bloody instruments before setting out? Through the gates, Logain could see that the city streets were filled to bursting with people. _And they've all come to see me!_ he mused, _what an honor!_

Logain chuckled lightly and straightened his posture as much as he could. If these folk had come to see the Dragon, who was he to deny them? The cage rolled through the gate, and all at once the noise of the crowd hit him like a crashing wave. He still held himself erect, one hand steadying his posture by the bars at the top of the cage. Slowly, the crowds began to go silent with awe wherever Logain cast his gaze. He had learned how to handle large crowds years ago, even before proclaiming himself the Dragon Reborn.

Several years back, a traveling menagerie had come to perform before the court of Ghealdan. The other nobles had been amazed by the fire-eaters, the knife-throwers, the high-rope walkers and the towering _s'redit_, but what captured Logain's wonder was the ringmaster. He was a tall, dark-haired man with a colorful silk cloak that would make the gaudiest tinker blush, and his presence was positively hypnotic. It seemed as though he held the crowd in his hands from the very moment he stepped out before them and flourished his ridiculous cloak. Once the show was done, Logain bent his ear, and several frothing tankards of ale later, the man was spilling enough trade secrets for Logain to open a menagerie of his own.

"The trick with crowds," the man had said, "is to always play to the very _back_ of the crowd. That way every last of them will think you're talking to him in person. And be sure to move from one side of the crowd to another so nobody feels left out." Logain had taken that lesson to heart immediately. As the cage rattled up the streets of Caemlyn towards the palace, his eyes traced the back of the crowds. Back and forth he swept his gaze, and wherever he looked, the awestruck silence followed. A simple trick, Logain thought, but remarkably effective.

The cage rounded one final corner, and the sprawling mass of the Royal Palace of Andor lumbered into view. As Logain traced his sight along the back of the crowd, he noticed something perched atop the palace wall. A man? What in the light was he doing up there? Logain looked closer, but he was forced to squint. _Blasted sun,_ he thought as he raised his free hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight...

...that wasn't sunlight.

Logain stared in wonder. The figure perched on the top of the wall was surrounded by a great golden blaze. He had never seen anything like it before. He glanced back at the crowd surrounding his cage. The crowd was silent, and all were staring at Logain with a mixture of awe and terror. _At him? Stone-witted fools!_ Could they not see this shining figure of legends made real? Logain looked again. The golden halo was even brighter if that was even possible, and suddenly he knew. He knew that man, whomever he was, would shake the very foundations of the earth, ten times greater than he himself ever had. He didn't know how he knew it, he just did. Logain was suddenly glad of his cage; he felt as though he wouldn't want to be any closer to that glowing figure of myth than he already was.

It was at about that time when Logain noticed that his free hand was still raised. He turned his gaze back to the crowd. The people were frozen in terror. Perhaps when he had raised his hand to shield his eyes, they feared he was preparing to call down lightning or balls of fire from the sky? Sheepishly, he lowered his hand, and the crowd erupted in furious shouts, as if they had to make up for lost time before he was swallowed up by the palace gates. Logain threw back his head and laughed at the absurdity of it all.

The noise of the crowd cut off sharply as Logain's cage rolled through the palace gates. The procession drew up in a courtyard and stopped. After a few moments, one of the warders produced a key and unlocked the cage. Logain stepped out and was immediately ringed by warders on the inside, and Aes Sedai on the outside. _An escort? How considerate of them!_ Finally, before they entered the palace, one of the warders produced a pair of manacles for Logain's wrists. There would be nothing left to chance when Logain was brought before the queen.

Logain had seen Caemlyn in his travels, but never before had he been inside the Royal Palace of Andor. The halls were hewn from white marble, and great columns stood sentry at the side of the halls. Ogier stonework no doubt; Logain had seen its like in Cairhien. Red liveried servants scurried out of the way and hid behind the pillars as the procession made its way through the palace. Some of the meeker ones even managed to slip beneath the hanging tapestries on the wall. Logain chuckled to himself. _Make way for the Dragon Reborn!_

Finally, Logain and his "retinue" emerged into what was almost certainly the great hall. Massive, two-story double doors opened upon a vast chamber. Two rows of white stone columns stood on either side of the tiled walkway that lead to a raised dais. At the top of the dais was the Lion Throne of Andor, flanked by giant hanging tapestries depicting the white lion of Andor on a field of red. A woman sat knitting beside the throne; Logain recognized the ageless face of an Aes Sedai. _Perfect, another blasted witch_. And atop the Lion Throne sat Morgase, Queen of Andor. She was shorter than he expected.

Halfway through the great hall, Logain's escort halted. Of course they wouldn't allow such a dangerous man so close to the Queen of Andor. One of his escort stepped forward; a stocky man of medium height with streaks of gray in his black hair. This one was definitely not a warder. "Captain-General Gareth Bryne" he announced, "with the White Tower embassy and the false dragon under guard."

"So this is the unbeliever," Morgase said in a haughty voice.

_Unbeliever?_ Logain had been called many vile things. Madman. Darkfriend. False Dragon. But _unbeliever_, that was one he hadn't heard before.

"I am Logain," he began, "Scion of the noble house of Abl-"

"I _know_ who you are," Morgase cut him off.

"How convenient," Logain smiled, forcing down his indignation at being interrupted, "Then we may dispense with introductions."

Captain-General Bryne turned to address Logain, "You stand in the presence of Mor-"

"I know to whom I speak," Logain silenced the man without looking in his direction. His eyes were fixed on Morgase. "Now then Morgase," he continued, "You may kneel and swear loyalty to me."

Logain could feel the air leave the great hall as he spoke. How could a man who had been defeated possibly demand that a queen kneel and swear to him? Several palace servants squeaked with fear, and all of the guards and warders drew their swords. Even the red sisters surrounding him raised their eyebrows; if they were not Aes Sedai, Logain suspected they would have screamed in terror. Morgase twitched slightly but gave no other sign.

Logain smirked and held his ground, "That _was_ why you sent for me, was it not? I can think of no other reason to summon me so urgently from my activities in the south." Logain glanced to his side at the red sisters, brimming with smugness. "I was even honored with an escort, and by carriage no less! Such courtesy!"

"You've had your little jest, Logain," Morgase huffed, "But now you are defeated. Your armies are scattered, your proclamation as the Dragon Reborn is come to naught, and word from Ghealdan is that you have been stripped of your title and estate. What have you to say for yourself now?"

Logain stiffened his back. That last insult was particularly galling, but still he kept his dignity. "A truly great man," Logain looked Morgase square in the eyes as he spoke, "needs no titles to proclaim his greatness. It is the mark of lesser nobility to heap honors and vainglories upon oneself to mask ones own inadequacy." Logain's unflinching glare made it all too clear whom he meant by _lesser nobility_.

Logain relished the smoldering look of fury that crept up the sides of Morgase's face. The rumors about Morgase's temper had been true so it seemed, "You try my patience," she said through gritted teeth.

"Do not think for a second that I am fooled by your supercilious pretense," Logain pressed his attack further, "These airs you put on might bedazzle some unlearned country shepherd boy, but you and I both know better than to take your condescending self-possession for anything resembling true nobility. You clothe yourself in robes of borrowed honor and think yourself a queen."

"How dare you speak to me in so rude a manner!" Morgase exploded off her throne, "I am Queen of Andor, and you shall-"

"You are a puppet dancing on Tar Valon strings," Logain grinned as his accusation stopped Morgase's rage in its tracks, "I know your story, Morgase Trakand. They say you were only admitted to the White Tower because of your royal connections, despite barely being able to channel at all. It must gall you to be forced to rely upon," he glanced at his escort of warders and Aes Sedai, "_imported_ labor."

The atmosphere had completely changed in the great hall; Logain was in control now. He smiled maliciously, sensing his advantage. _Time to move in for the kill,_ "And you expect me to walk small in your presence?!" He summoned up all the force that his lungs could yield, "I am Logain Ablar! Lightning falls from the sky when I call and strikes where I point! I command the wind and rain to drown my foes where they stand! I rend the earth with unseen hands, and draw fires from stone! I will never kneel before anyone, least of all to you!"

The silence that followed Logain's defiant proclamation was the loudest he had ever heard in his life.

Before Morgase could respond to Logain's outburst, the doors of the great hall opened and a servant rushed inside. He dashed past Logain and his guard, and he knelt before the Lion Throne. "My queen!" He puffed breathlessly, "My lord Galadedrid reports there is an intruder in the palace gardens! A dirty skulking peasant, armed and threatening the safety of my lady Elayne and my lord Gawyn!" All eyes turned on Logain. "One of your minions come to mount a rescue?" Morgase spoke what everyone else was clearly thinking. Logain was stunned into silence for a moment. Had his men truly rallied to his rescue?

No, it had to be the man on the palace wall!

Logain laughed a deep rich laugh. The man who would break the world stalked these very palace grounds, and Logain was the one in chains? Light, how absurd! He was still laughing when the warders shuffled him out of the throne room towards the palace dungeons.

Logain had never slept in a dungeon before. His cell consisted of a hard stone slab barely long enough to lie flat on, a small barred window high up on the wall, a straw-covered stone floor, and eight wooden stools arrayed against the far wall in a line. And upon those stools sat the eight red sisters that maintained Logain's shield. He ignored them, he was long since accustomed to their presence.

As Logain lay on what was clearly never intended to be a bed, he pondered the brilliant figure he had seen on the walls. Who could that man be? Somehow, Logain knew that the man he saw would shake the world to its very core. He must be some sort of lord or general. Logain recalled a concept he had read about a while back: _Ta'veren_. Could that man be one of those legendary figures that the Wheel of Time spun out every so often to shepherd the pattern? It was certainly possible... _Could he be the Dragon Reborn?_

The thought gave Logain pause. If the figure truly was the Dragon Reborn, then that meant he himself was not. Logain didn't like that thought at all. He snorted. Of course he was the Dragon Reborn! How could he not be? The prophecies had spoken to him and assured him that he was! Sure he had bent them in places, but they were still valid, were they not?

No, Logain knew better than to deny the hard truth. His claim had been a mistake plain and simple. In his pride, he had forced his way into prophecy to claim a station that was not his by right. He was not the Dragon Reborn. _But he almost had been! Almost!_ Between his claim as the Dragon reborn and his attempt on the summit of Dragonmount, that word, _almost_ was beginning to sound like the story of his life.

And as that last thought swirled about in his head, Logain drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 3: Logain's Solitude

Logain sat upon a bale of hay in the loft of the barn, shaving the sides of his dice by the light of the waxing gibbous moon. This was his second identical set of dice. The first set was rigged to a winning combination, and this second set he would rig to a losing one. Logain was getting good at this new skill; he had already won enough coin to buy a horse, a coat and a sword. A little over a month of dicing in seedy inns and public houses had taught him quite a bit about cheating at dice games.

Logain had stumbled upon a very comfortable, and very lucrative strategy. He would first play with his losing dice, and when his opponents had been sufficiently lulled by their false streak, Logain would subtly switch out the dice one by one for his winning set, and promptly win back all that he had lost and then some. He would switch back to his loosing dice if the competition got suspicious, and call for drinks to placate the crowd. Fortunes would run high and low, and by the end of the night, Logain would have simply have had honest luck.

Well, _Logain_ wouldn't have the luck; _Dalyn_ would. He shuddered. It really was an awful name. He should never have let that hag Mara talk him into using that one instead of _Guaire_. Light, that woman was a stubborn mule! Logain had been grateful enough to assist Mara (or whatever her real name was) when she offered him revenge, but a month and a half of traipsing across Cairhien and Andor looking for the light only knew what could try the patience of a stone.

Amaena, the domani, wasn't quite as bad as Mara, but she ran a close second. Logain had known enough domani women in his time to know the truth of the rumors about them, but Amaena had to be the sloppiest domani he had ever met! She couldn't seduce a man if she were married to him! Then again, Logain wasn't exactly in the mood to be seduced. A year in the White Tower could make any man swear off women, especially after what they had done to him.

Serenla, the last woman was certainly the most agreeable of the bunch, or rather she bothered Logain the least. If it weren't for her habit of staring at Logain with a wide-eyed dumbfounded look on her face, she might even be pleasant. She certainly hadn't earned the name (or the alias) _Serenla_. If any woman in their group was the stubborn daughter it was Mara. One thing at least Logain was grateful for: none of the women had the ageless face of an Aes Sedai.

The knife slipped beneath Logain's fingers, barely missing his thumb. He stifled an oath. Thinking about his companions had clouded his mind and distracted him from his work! _Concentrate!_ he told himself, _this is precise work!_ Logain held the dice up to the moonlight. It looked alright. There were no obvious chips along the sides; those would give away a crooked gambler in an instant. There were scrape marks on the faces his knife had touched, but those could easily be polished down with sand and spit. Logain squinted, he needed more details, and this moonlight only showed so much. Instinctively, Logain reached out for the Source...

Nothing. The world remained dull and lifeless.

Logain wanted to scream, cry and cut his own throat all at the same time. He could still sense the Source, a blazing beacon of ice and fire mocking him with the promise of ecstasy and power, and now forever beyond his reach. The agony was still raw, even a year after the Red Ajah had gentled him. _Gentled,_ Light, he hated that word. It made the heinous act sound like a bloody mercy killing! As though they were simply putting down a lame horse! He would never forgive the White Tower for what they had stolen from him, and if he could just keep himself from strangling Mara for a little longer, he would have his revenge on them all!

...and then what? Revenge could only keep a man alive for so long. What would he do once he'd had his fill of vengeance?

Logain tightened his grip on the knife in his hand and slipped it back into its sheath. He pocketed his dice as well. That was enough work for one night. He could inspect his dice in greater detail by the light of day. But now he wanted for sleep. He leaned back against the outer wall of the barn and closed his eyes.

"What are you doing in my barn?!"

Logain jerked awake and sat upright. He drew his knife and crept up to the edge of the loft, peering down onto the ground level where the women slept. His three insufferable companions were scrambling to their feet while a man with a pole lantern stormed into the barn. So much for a good night's sleep.

"Get out of my barn, trespassers!" the stout farmer hollered at the women. Logain silently pulled on his coat and his heavy riding gloves. He slid off the edge of the loft and dangled for a moment before letting himself fall to the ground level as silently as he could manage. He then began to creep silently towards the farmer with the lantern. If Logain could subdue the farmer, no doubt his companions would see him in a different light and afford him a modicum of respect, or at the very least they could all go back to bed.

Then, at the worst possible moment, Serenla noticed Logain sneaking up behind the farmer. "No! Wait!" she cried out, and the man turned to see Logain lurking behind him. The man made to strike, but Logain's instincts were quicker. One solid punch to the head, and the man was lying flat on his back... with the lantern lying shattered on the straw beside him, and the fire quickly spreading across the bone-dry straw. _Blood and bloody ashes!_

Logain scrambled over a stack of hay bales and squeezed out of a window at the rear of the barn. He had tied up their horses back there; a defense against the possibility of discovery. He quickly unhitched the horses and led them towards the woods as flames slowly consumed the barn. Logain looked back over his shoulder. _Had the women escaped?_ He put them out of his mind. If they escaped, then they would be alright. And if they burned alive instead, well it couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of people!

_And what of my revenge?_ Logain wondered...

All of a sudden, a horde of people burst out of the farmhouse. Without a second thought Logain hastily tied the horses off on a shrub and rushed back to the barn, drawing his sword as he ran. He slowed as he neared the crowd, and pressed his back against the farmhouse. Logain's instincts from his time scouting in the Forest of Shadows returned in force. He slipped his knife out of its sheath as he crouched against the wall, and clutched it lightly in a practiced grip. The knife would be his last line of defense if he was discovered. Swords were for intimidation, knives were for killing.

Logain peeked around the side of the farmhouse. A crowd of about a dozen milled about by the light of the fire, waving cudgels about and screaming profanities and oaths at the top of their lungs. Mara, Amaena and Serenla stood at the center of the mob, trying to shield themselves from the rabble. At least they were out of the barn.

Logain slipped his knife and sword back into their sheathes. There was no way he would try to rescue those women now. Knocking down one man was one thing, but a one-on-twelve brawl was beyond his ability. Logain supposed that he could try to pass himself off as a lord's retainer and demand the mob render up their captives for trial, but Logain had no idea which lord ruled in this part of the Braem Wood. Any peasant could expose him just by asking on whose authority he was acting. That was a risk Logain was unwilling to take.

As Logain crept along the side of the farmhouse away from the mob, he noticed an open window. He peeked inside. There was nobody in the room, but someone had clearly just left, as indicated by the candle that still flickered on a desk. Beside the candle, Logain could see something twinkle in the dim light. A purse of gold! And foolishly left out in the open! Without thinking, Logain scrambled through the window and snatched the purse off the desk. He slipped out of the house and returned to the horses. Nobody followed after him as he vanished into the forest.

Logain walked for hours, leading the horses by the reins. The barn fire vanished between the trees, but he kept going. Logain wanted as much distance between himself and those farmers when the missing purse was discovered. It was dawn when Logain happened upon a small brook, shriveled to a mere trickle by the summer heat. Logain drank deeply from the stream, not minding the taste of dirt, and the horses followed his example. Logain reclined against a tree as the horses drank. His stomach growled; he hadn't eaten in almost a day, and unlike the horses, he couldn't live off grass. He ignored the gurgling, and took stock of his situation.

He could probably sell the horses easily enough. One of the three mares was a swaybacked old beast but the other two would likely fetch a decent price. And if anyone questioned how Logain had come by the horses, he could point them to the merchant from whom he had bought his black stallion to quell their suspicions. By the time anyone thought to confirm his tale, he would have moved on.

Then there was the purse of gold. Logain opened it and poured its contents out onto his palm. Fourteen gold marks and forty-nine silver pennies. A paltry sum. Most of the coins had been minted in Altara. Those would be worth less than half the value of the others. Logain scooped the coins back into the purse. There was barely enough coin to make up a single gold crown between the lot of them, but it would do.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Logain. He was free! For the first time in so long, he was truly free! Logain smiled and tucked the purse into his coat. It had been so long! He had been snatched out of his bed by the Red Ajah nearly a year and a half ago and dragged to the White Tower where he had spent the next year in watchful captivity. Even when he escaped the tower during that riot or coup or whatever it was, he had let himself get roped into Mara's sordid scheme. But now he was finally a free man!

_I should go back to help those women_. The thought came to Logain unbidden. What was he thinking?! Of course he shouldn't help them! He was finally rid of those blasted harpies, and now he wanted to ride to their rescue like some foolish knight out of a gleeman's tale? What a ridiculous notion! He had suffered under their thumb for far too long, but no more! Now he was free to do as he pleased!

_And what will I do with freedom?_ he wondered. He had spent so long yearning for liberation that he had hardly considered what he would do once he attained it. He couldn't go home, not after his title and estate had been confiscated, and certainly not after the mess he had made of Ghealdan during his little stint as a false dragon. Logain had experienced many things, but he had never actually been an apprentice; so picking up a trade was unlikely. Even if he somehow won enough money at crooked dicing to set himself up in a city, he would be recognized sooner or later. There was nowhere he could go where he could be safe from his past.

Logain wasn't free. He was alone.

_I should go back to help those women._ Again the thought came to Logain, and again he protested. Why should he offer them any assistance? If their situations had been reversed, they certainly wouldn't do the same for him. And if he helped them, he had no illusions that they would appreciate it, so why should he bother? _Because I cannot get my revenge without their help_. Logain scowled, the logic of his conclusion was irrefutable. Light, would he never be clear of those insufferable women?

Logain gathered up the horses who had begun to graze upon a shaggy patch of grass beside the stream. He mounted his stallion and turned back the way he had come, following the trail he had made during his escape. He fumed at the women as he rode. He needed them, but they didn't need him. He was just an accessory to Mara's plan. She would probably fault Logain for running away, conveniently ignoring the fact that if he hadn't run away, there could be no rescue. Light! Why did the creator have to make women so bloody unpleasant? _Unpleasant or not,_ Logain told himself, _they are my only chance at revenge_.

And Logain _would_ have his revenge!


	5. Chapter 4: Logain's Recovery

"It was about two and a half years ago," Logain began, "In a town called Cosamelle. That's when they first appeared to me."

There was only one nobleman this time. He was an older man, tall (though not as tall as Logain) with a white pointed beard and a wrinkled face. He claimed to be a minor Murandian lord, but Logain could tell when a man was putting on an accent that was not his own. He had picked up on enough slips of the tongue to guess that this man came from much further to the south. Tear most likely. _And come all this way to hear my tale!_ Logain was flattered that this man had come from so far, but mostly he was impressed that the man had managed to deceive the aes sedai about his identity. Logain suspected that the sisters would never have let him speak to this man if they knew where he was from.

The "Little Tower," as the rebel aes sedai in Salidar had taken to calling themselves, rigidly controlled who saw Logain. It was mostly Altarans who came to see him, with a few Muradians and the occasional Andoran or Cairhienin. Additionally, they chose only nobility who might conceivably give support to the rebels, or at least refuse it to the loyalists. Finally, not a single Ghealdanin was permitted to see Logain. He had asked about that, and one of the sisters had said it was to protect him from reprisals. Of course, she had probably worded the answer in a way that bent around the oath against speaking untrue words. The _real_ reason Logain suspected was because any Ghealdanin would immediately point out that there was no such town as 'Cosamelle.' That could get awkward.

Logain continued, "They found me asleep, and I thought I was done for when they shielded me." A memory stirred unbidden in his mind. Waking up in the dead of night. A tingling on his skin. A shield blocking him from the Source. Air becoming solid and lifting him off the ground. It was over a year since he had been captured, and the sensations were still so clear in his mind. Logain forced the memory down, and went on.

"Their leader was a sister named 'Javindhra'..." Logain had never heard the name before Mara had told it to him. She had told him to mention Javindhra every single time. Had this Javindhra slighted Mara in particular somehow? _Maybe she was one of the sisters who captured and gentled me..._ Logain banished the speculations from his mind; it were best not to think on that. He continued...

"...but I recall another named 'Toveine' who talked a great deal." Mara had given him a list of names of red sisters to pick from each time he gave his story. In the past few months, Logain had implicated Barasine, Pevara, Katerine, Lemai, Tsutama, Teslyn, Duhara, Galina, Tarna... light by now he had probably named more than half of all the reds in the entire tower. _Spread the blame around,_ Logain thought with a malicious grin, _At least a few of them must have been responsible for my capture._ "...And I heard Elaida mentioned as if she knew what they were about." Mara had been particularly adamant about mentioning Elaida's involvement, though Logain had needed little encouragement in that regard.

"The sisters gave me a choice of death on the spot, or taking what they offered. They didn't say that they had done something like it before, but the whole ordeal seemed... rehearsed somehow. They gave no reasons for their offer, but it seems clear now looking back. Tracking down a man who can channel carries little glory, but to topple a false dragon..." He still chafed at the tacit admission. Gorin Rogad had proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn in hopes of carving out a small kingdom for himself, and Mazrim Taim by all accounts had proclaimed himself as little more than a publicity stunt, but Logain had proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn because he honestly thought that he was the Dragon Reborn. _If only that bloody al'Thor boy had proclaimed himself sooner!_ Logain fumed, _he might have spared me a great deal of confusion!_

"For the better part of a year, the red sisters helped me evade capture. They warned me whenever another sister was near, and even encouraged me to name myself the Dragon Reborn," the lie grated at Logain, but he grit his teeth and went on, "After I raised the standard of the Dragon, the sisters kept me informed of the location and strength of all my enemies. That is how I always knew where and when to strike. They continued to feed me critical intelligence, right up until the moment they betrayed me. In hindsight, I should have suspected their intentions sooner."

The nobleman didn't react. He simply sat quietly, listening to Logain's story without interrupting. Strange, usually the noble lords and ladies would try to butt in and offer some exclamation about how such a story was impossible or Logain could not be trusted. Logain relished those outbursts; their little shows of arrogance were a well needed boon to his ego. But this lord was different. He seemed understanding... almost sympathetic. He wasn't even put off by the fact that Logain had once been able to channel. Light, that was unsettling. Logain could handle adversity easily enough. But compassion? What was he to do with that?

"...that concludes my tale." Logain said after an awkward pause.

The nobleman straightened in his seat and spoke, "What was it like?"

"What was _what_ like?" Logain cocked his head to one side.

"_Saidin_," the nobleman said, "What was it like to channel the power? I've always wondered."

Logain barely managed to conceal his shock. Nobody had ever asked him a question like that one. Not ever. "It's difficult to describe," he began, "It's... it's not like any other sensation..." _It's the most amazing feeling a man can possibly feel!_ "...It sharpens the senses and..." _It's the only thing that makes me feel alive!_ "...and it makes a man feel like he can do anything..." _It's the most powerful thing in the universe!_ "...but there is also the taint to consider..." _I don't care about the bloody taint!_ "...I guess, it's just..." _Light, I need it!_

Logain trailed off and tried to seize the source, but to no avail. The far-off maelstrom of ice and fire taunted him from just beyond his grasp. Logain wanted to pull his hair out. It wasn't fair! His revenge against the Red Ajah had given renewed purpose to his life, but more importantly it had kept him from dwelling on what he had lost. All the recovery he had made from weeks of sweet vengeance had come crashing down thanks to one simple question! _Burn that bloody lord and his flaming compassion!_

"...I need to go," Logain said as he stalked out of the inn, without waiting for the approval of the sister watching over him. His face might have been a mask of calm, but Logain could feel cracks forming just beneath the surface. He lurched into the street as the sister and her warder scurried to keep up with him. "I think that's enough for one day," she said as she finally reached his side, desperately trying to make it seem as though Logain's abrupt exit had been her idea. Logain picked up his pace; it was all he could do to keep himself from throttling the sister.

The rebel aes sedai camp in Salidar was a mess of cramped stone buildings on a few low hills in a forest. It had clearly been long abandoned before the rebels arrived but a great deal of effort had been put into rendering the town at least livable. Logain hurried through the narrow streets, back to the small house on the outskirts of town that was set aside for him. It was an effort to keep from slamming the door behind him when he entered.

It was a comfortable house. Good strong stone walls kept the hut cool in the punishing summer heat. The ornate carpet had been beaten and the floor swept while he was out; but that wasn't because the tower was taking particularly good care of him as much as it was the aes sedai finding demeaning make-work tasks for novices and accepted. None of the furniture in the house matched, but that didn't matter. At least he was alone.

A half-empty jug of wine sat on the table with a pair of clay cups beside it. Logain hastily poured himself a cup and downed it in a single gulp. He winced, the wine was awful. Why did the sisters keep him on this disgusting stuff? Logain snatched up the simple pipe that sat beside the jug and clumsily stuffed a pinch of tabac into the bowl. After a few moments of fumbling with a striker, _I could have easily lit this bloody thing with channeling!_, the pipe was emitting a thin trail of smoke. Logain took a heavy drag on the pipe and collapsed into a chair beside the window.

A year or two earlier, Logain would have decried smoking as a nasty little habit that did little but blacken the lungs and yellow the teeth, but now he was beginning to see its appeal. A great mellowing sensation washed over him, calming his frayed nerves, and soothing his grief at loosing the Source. The smoke carried a pleasant flavor as he drew it in. Tabac from the Two Rivers was said to be the finest in the world, and Logain was inclined to believe it.

He exhaled, blowing a large cloud of blue-gray smoke. It hovered formless in the air for a minute or two before dissipating. Logain pondered, he had seen men in seedy taverns blowing their smoke out in such a way that it curled into rings. How was that done? Perhaps it was something to do with the position of the tongue? Logain tried blowing out smoke with his tongue sticking out of his mouth... no difference. He giggled slightly, _I must look like a bloody fool!_

His nerves now sufficiently calmed, Logain removed his jacket, a garish red-and-gold thing with all the comfort throughly embroidered out of it, and draped it over the back of his chair. He wandered into the other room that held his bed, and picked up a book that stood on the nightstand, _The Travels of Jain Farstrider_. Logain smiled, he had read it cover to cover many times, but it was just what he needed. Good books were like old friends. You had to visit them every once in a while. Now if only he could get his hands on a copy of _The Nine Rings_...

As he carried the book back into the first room, he saw in his minds eye the image of a young boy sneaking into the family library late at night. The boy held his free hand up to his candle to keep the light from falling where it shouldn't, and he walked slowly to keep his bare feet from alerting the floorboards. The boy searched the bookshelves, some over twice his young height, until he found a shabby, dog-eared copy of the very book Logain now carried under his arm. He smiled fondly at the memory. It was a better time. A happier time.

Sitting and tracing the familiar words, Logains mind wandered to a rumor he had overheard a few days ago. Supposedly, the Dragon Reborn had called for an amnesty for all men who could channel. Logain had also heard tell of a school established by the Lord Dragon for men who could channel somewhere in Andor. Or was it in Cairhien? Some versions of the tale claimed that the Lord Dragon had even found a former false dragon to serve as headmaster of this new academy. That last part at least had to be an exaggeration; would the Lord Dragon really trust anyone who had once tried to claim the title that was his by right? And even if he was fool enough to trust one, what self-respecting false dragon would simply bow his head and follow the Dragon Reborn without question?

_...I would._

Logain sighed and ruefully shook his head. If only that amnesty had come two years sooner.

And in any case, the whole thing was probably just some clever little Red Ajah trap. Perhaps they tired of traipsing about the land after male channelers. Why seek out men where they hide when you can bait them with false hope? Hunters can kill with snares as well as arrows.

The door opened without a knock, and two accepted shuffled into his house. One of them was Elayne Trakand, Daughter-Heir of Andor. She had her mothers face, her mothers red-gold locks, and the same insufferable air of self-possession. Light help Andor when that little harpy came into her rule! The other accepted was a tall woman, perhaps a year or two younger than he himself was. He recognized her as well, there couldn't be two braids like that in the whole world. This was the accepted who had made a study of him and his gentling. What was her name again? Nimue, Nivian or something like that?

Logain stood, tapped out his pipe, donned his coat and bowed gracefully. "It is good to see you again after so long. I thought you had forgotten me." It had been weeks since their last session. Logain didn't mind the prolonged absence; truth be told, the sessions were tedious affairs, and the accepted was always in a frightfully unpleasant mood. Logain indicated the tumbler of wine, "Will you join me in some wine? The aes sedai keep me on short supply, but what they do let me have is not bad at all." Logain tried his hardest to mold his face into an inviting expression. _Drink it! Drink that rotten scum, you light-blinded simpletons!_

"Sit down," the accepted snapped, "I'll have no chatter out of you. Answer when you're spoken to, and otherwise hold your tongue." Logain shrugged and complied. _Oh well. Worth a try, I suppose._ Logain glanced over at Elayne; she had taken a seat beside her partner without reaching for the wine. A shame. It would have done him good to see those high-and-mighty accepted gagging on that wretched swill. Logain grinned insolently; it was the little things in life.

The accepted pulled up a chair and sat before Logain. He felt the familiar tingling sensation on his skin that meant that the accepted had seized the source and was now holding the power. Logain had never quite grown accustomed to that sensation, even after he figured out what it meant. The accepted cleared her throat and then... nothing? Logain couldn't sense anything different. He leaned in closer to her. Just what was she doing? Maybe she wasn't doing anything at all?

The other accepted stared in amazement. "How can you do all of that at once?" she squeaked. Logain narrowed his eyes, so this accepted _was_ doing something after all. And judging by the Trakand girls' reaction, whatever she was doing was quite an impressive feat. It was no great revelation, Logain had long since determined that he could not sense what exactly a woman was doing with the power, but he hated not knowing. Was it the same for women? Could they sense when a man held the source, but not what he wove? So many questions, and he would never know the answers...

All of a sudden, the accepted grasped Logain's head and roughly pulled him forward! Logain was barely able to maintain his composure. Light, the nerve of that girl! The way she treated him, one would think he wasn't even a human being. How dare that little trollop manhandle him as if he was part of the furniture!?

_...She dares because she holds the power, and I don't,_ Logain thought. Absently he tried to seize the Source, and again the Source eluded him. It was to be expected, but it still galled him that he would never again feel what this silly accepted now felt. Still, Logain continued to grope fitfully towards the Source, like a child picking at an old scab that would not heal. Logain grit his teeth and closed his eyes...

...And then to Logain's amazement, he seized it!

Logain's eyes widened in wonder! After a year and a half of thirsting for the power, the force of _Saidin_ hit him like an avalanche! It was a torrent of burning ice and freezing fire! The taint scoured his soul, and he rejoiced in its filth! For the first time in so long, he was alive! Truly _alive!_

Logain seized more of the Power, filling himself to the brim with its nourishing blaze... _Yes! More! Give me more!_ A shield of spirit sprang into being between Logain and the Source. Lost in the power as he was, he barely noticed. Light, it felt like he had regrown an arm!

The girl who had just healed him, _Light bless that insufferable genius!_ started squeaking commands at the Trakand girl. Logain didn't catch most of the words, and he didn't care so lost was he in the fury and wonder of _Saidin_. All he caught was the final sentence, as the Trakand girl slipped out of the house...

"...Tell her I've healed Logain!"


End file.
